


for everything I say

by Yina_Ke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bondage, Handcuffs, I wrote this for Steph, M/M, PWP, Smut, Theon is in love I think, angsty sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yina_Ke/pseuds/Yina_Ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon hates that they’re basically like two people in a three-legged race going in the fucking opposite directions. He hates that for all they say, there’s so much more they don’t. Bondage smut. PWP. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for everything I say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mockyrfears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockyrfears/gifts).



Theon knows that he won’t get out of this so easily the moment Robb closes the door behind them, yanks down his own tie, stomps his heels against the floor to toe out of his shoes, and pins Theon with a  _look._

“Did you?” Something lurks beneath the surface of Robb’s voice, low, cool, waiting, and, whatever it is, Theon can feel it bridge the physical space between them.

It shudders down Theon’s spine hard enough to make him laugh and say, “Do you think so?” He pauses, looks Robb up and down. “Even if I did, it’s not exactly against the rules, is it?” 

He hates the undercurrent of pain even _he_ can hear in his own voice. He hates that they’re basically like two people in a three-legged race going in fucking opposite directions. He hates that for all they say, there’s so much more they don’t.

At least, he takes comfort in the fact that Robb probably didn’t notice.

Robb’s pupils are blown when he looks him up and down, orders Theon to go over to the bed and take off his clothes, his voice clipped and his back straight, regal and handsome in the diffused evening light. Theon’s a little drunk – they both are – but he knows that the sort of haze that settles over him has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with _Robb_ , Robb being like  _this_ , Robb demanding things like a lord who  _owns_ rather than wants, owns _him_.

And Theon obeys. He still tries the whole shit-eating grin thing while he backs up against the bed, knocks his calves against it, but he feels his finger shake, feels them wrestle with the buttons of his shirt, sweat-slick and jittery.

Robb’s on top of him before he can even comprehend what happened and they’re kissing - if that’s even the right word for it: it’s biting and sucking, it’s teeth that smash together and make Theon’s gums hurt, it’s growls and groans as neither concedes to play the submissive in this thing, and _hmm ah_ , Theon’s mouth is full of Robb and his body is hot and hard and heavy on top of his, and _yes_ , there’s darts of tongues and clicks of teeth, and then there’s a  _clank_ , one that tells him that Robb got out those things from the drawer and Theon’s mind flicks off and dies with one last, pathetic buzz.

Robb breaks the kiss, gasps for air, his eyes shiny, his lips red. He straddles Theon, pins him against the bed, and his eyes pierce deeper than he’ll ever know. “Did you?”

Theon feels the question slide into his ears, sink into his stomach, curdle and writhe and tangle there. He snorts, once, then twice, feels his upper lip curl up as if he’s tasted something poisonous, hears himself say, “None of your business.”

The sudden flash of pain on Robb’s face is so sudden and unexpected that it makes Theon’s head spin, makes him want to say, ‘no, of course not, of course not, I would never, no matter what this is, no matter how little,’ but he won’t, he won’t, he _won’t_ say the words, he _can’t_.

So he doesn't.

Robb holds Theon’s eyes.

His face is a landscape of tossed-up lights and shadows, Theon thinks. It’s the light that traces reddish curls that tumble down along his cheeks, dips into the pale oval of his face; it’s the shadows that cling to the harsh lines of his face, the set jaw, the drawn eyebrows, the quiet _fury_ -

Robb jerks up Theon’s arms, and –- “Ah.” -- a shiver of expectation runs through Theon’s body at that, pools in his cock and pulses, pulses, and louder still at the sound of the handcuffs above Theon’s head giving a satisfying little  _click_.

“So how was she?” Robb says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Theon pause, something dark and low. He nudges Theon’s legs apart with his knees to settle in between them while he unbuckles himself, thumbs open the button on his jeans, lowers the zipper. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Theon’s too distracted by the sight of Robb’s cock to form an immediate answer. He licks his lips, tries to remember the question, and is snapped out of it when Robb growls, crowds in on him and hisses, “Did you?”

Theon still doesn’t remember the question, but there’s obviously only one acceptable answer: “Yes,” he says. Yes, to all this. Yes to whatever you asked. “Yes, yes, a lot.”

Robb narrows his eyes, and reaches behind Theon somewhere, and reappears moments later. Theon shivers at the cool sensation of the liquid against his arse, whines and groans and throws his weight against the handcuffs, feels them bite into his skin. He doesn’t remember biting himself, too, but he must have, because there’s the dull, metallic tang of blood in his mouth, and he groans, “ _Fuck_.”

Robb’s not gentle when he plunges in a finger, then two, then three, giving Theon no chance to even adjust to the burn, burn,  _burn_  of the stretch before he already withdraws them again, readies his cock and rubs it against the skin there. Theon's already wet from the lube, wet and bloody disgusting, he can feel it, he can, _ah_.

Robb leans forward, steadies himself on his palms, brings their faces close together, pins Theon with one of the harshest looks he's seen on him; there's razors in his eyes, knit ropes along his tightly-shut jaw, corded muscles along his shoulders and arms, and when Robb thrusts in, harsh and fast, a scream wrenches free inside Theon's stomach, cannonballs up his throat, shatters against his teeth, and -

Theon bites it down, swallows it, refuses to give Robb the satisfaction of hearing him groan in pain. He slides his eyebrows together into a frown, pins Robb with a look, wraps his legs around him and hisses a sharp, “ _Yes, ah.”_ And then the next sound that hammers against his teeth from the inside and he can't help but let pass is, thankfully, a _moan_. “Ah, hnng, yes, fuck, yes, I, I can’t, I -“

“Shut up,” Robb says, leans in, bites his lower lip, and mingles heated breaths together. “Shut up, shut up, shut _up_ -“

“Yes,” Theon gasps. “Yes. No. Yes,” and then he can’t say much of anything because with every word Robb pounds him harder, obviously intent on fucking out every syllable that sounds even remotely like English, on turning his mind white as snow, helpless with pleasure and sensation, and it does just  _that_ , and Theon rocks and moans and whines and draws his eyes to the ceiling and thinks he might be dying a little.

Theon feels Robb’s cock move between his legs, _into_ him, and he can feel the teeth of Robb’s zipper cold on his skin, the rough rub of denim against his arse, and it should be dirty and demeaning and it sort of is, but most of Theon thinks that that makes it better, _hotter_ , that Robb is still mostly dressed and just can't be even arsed to even strip down, that he wants him that badly, in whatever small way he does.

It feels like Robb just fucks him open, again and again, no mercy, no care, and Theon feels the sucker-punch of orgasm already coiling in his stomach, feels it pressing there, impatient, like a raised fist fighting the nerve to just land the blow already. He’s making fucking obscene noises right now, panting and groaning and gasping wetly for air, throwing himself against the cuffs. It sends a thrill of a different kind down his spine that still curls in his loins, that realisation how useless it is, how he can do nothing to stop this, how he's split open and served up and utterly _Robb's_.

Theon doesn't want him to end, but he knows he's close, much too close. He looks down at his own cock, purple at the tip already with the veins pulsing against the skin, and he knows he won't even have to touch himself, won't need Robb to touch him either, he knows he's just going to come from this, from Robb inside him, merciless and rough, any moment now. He's shoved up the mattress with every single push, and his back crumples up the sheets, his fingers twitch, his toes curl, and he's close, close, close, almost, _almost_ \--

And then he's there, oh yes, he's there, and it's with a regretful shout that he comes in milky stripes all over the nice black button-up that he wore just for the night out, but he can't see it properly because his eyes flutter closed and open, the world just slithers of light zapped through by electric pleasure. He comes down, and his calves are cramping from tensing his muscles for too long, and the bite of the cuffs against his wrists is hot and angry. And yet.

And yet he still wishes he could make this last, he thinks, when something like words filter back into his consciousness and he is able to see better now, see curly hair and those fucking blue eyes staring down at him. He wishes it wouldn’t end, but he knows it will, soon, knows it from the way Robb’s breathing gets faster, the way he stares at Theon as if he’s a piece of meat the way they will when he’s close to the edge, pupils small as pinpricks, determined, chasing his own release.

Theon has always thought that nothing looked so much like sociopathy as a man about to come.

And then Robb does, in a heaving groan that sounds just the smallest bit desperate to Theon’s ears, and he can’t feel the spurting, but he _can_ feel how _wet_  his arse is when Robb continues to fuck him with a few last harsh snaps of his hips. Theon's wet and slimy and filthy with Robb’s release, and Theon imagines what it must look like, Robb's cock sliding along come-slick walls, and if Theon hadn’t just come a few minutes ago, he would be hard again.

But he won’t be, because it’s over now, now that Robb has nailed him against the mattress and made them both come so hard they nearly passed out, now that Theon's wrists scream in agony. It's over now, now that the anger has been squirted out.

Robb’s face above him melts and yields in the sweetest way.

Theon likes that part, too.

They spend a few moments just collecting their breaths. They share a glance, then two, furtive eyes darting across eyes, cheek bones, lips. 

Then Robb looks away, moves to unlock the cuffs and Theon wants to cry when sweet, sweet relief floods his nerves. He rolls up to his side nursing his aching limbs while Robb’s come leaks out of him and he feels good and used and  _right_.

The bed creaks when Robb gets up, stretches his arms, and looks at Theon, and Theon knows without looking that it's concern he would see there, silent questions and the first clutches of self-doubt and regret. Robb gets like this, when he's fucked him a bit too hard, when Theon's wrists are chafed raw and his entire body aches.

“I'm all right,” Theon says, tries for a smirk, rubs his wrists. “You're all right, too,” he adds, even though he knows Robb won't really believe it, that's he's scared of this, this side of himself, the part he can't control.

It's all the same to Theon, really. He can't think of anything Robb could do that he wouldn't love.

When he watches Robb avert his eyes again, Theon sees the blush pulse hot beneath his cheeks. Sees his jaw lock, his hands curl into fists. Doesn't see but feels how the doubt curls his inside into a tight rope like a fishing net studded with pearls of loathing.

It would be easy to say it, Theon thinks. Easy to say, now that he remembers what this is all about. Easy to say, ‘I didn’t really.’ 

He doesn’t, though, because it’s not what Robb needs to hear, not really. If Theon really _didn't_ , that would make all of this harder.

So Robb gets up and gathers up his clothes and puts them on and leaves, and Theon stays quiet throughout all of it.

He is so good at that sometimes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yepp... just porn, guys. But because I can't ever just write porn, there's an undercurrent of angst here, too. I fail.
> 
> So... um, well this was written for mockryfears, who requested bondage smut on my tumblr. A while ago, I opened up prompts for Throbb drabbles and received a couple of requests, and this is my first fill. After, like, three weeks. Also, let's not mention that this is hardly a drabble, sobs.
> 
> (Prompts are actually still open on my tumblr until December 1st. I guess I'll add the link to my profile. In case, you know. You want a fic like a month later, uh).
> 
> ... _Anyway._
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
